


Show Me

by brodylover



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood, Confession, Cutting, First Kiss, M/M, Season gr8, Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 06:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brodylover/pseuds/brodylover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel starts self harming in order to feel some control over his body. There are better things than control that he could be filling himself with though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show Me

It started as simple as metal on flesh as blood on skin, as teeth on cracked lips.   
It started as hard as a need for control, for lack of help, for the isolation of time.  
Castiel knew that no matter what he did, he would never belong. He did not belong to Heaven for he had caused too many atrocities there to ever be welcomed back. He did not belong to Earth as he did not know how to act like the people there. He did not belong to the Winchesters as he could see it in their faces how strange he was, how lost. He tried to make jokes, tried to be human, tried to show emotions, but they only made him more of an outsider. He was trying too hard.   
His Grace was no longer his own, his body had never been. He had no control over what was happening, his Grace weak and flickering inside of him instead of shining like the beacon it had once been. His body had been used by so many that he no longer felt like he fit in it, it was stretched and no longer as responsive as it had been when Jimmy had first leant it to him.   
He needed control. He needed to make this body his own.  
He tried to hide it. His blade was always hidden up his sleeve when a Winchester came into the motel room or Impala or wherever it was that he was trying to take charge of himself. He had enough grace to hide it as well, to get his over coat on before anyone could see the sticky trails of blood there.  
Grace can heal anything, even death if it’s recent enough, but it cannot heal self inflicted wounds and it cannot heal that which is caused by grace. So he bled to himself and he washed the red stains away with the tears that fell. Even this only gave him temporary control. After a few hours he would feel lost again, like his body was someone else’s and that someone else had his fate planned out for him.   
Sam didn’t notice. Sam didn’t notice anything. He hadn’t noticed how weak Castiel had become or how there were sometimes droplets of blood staining the motel carpets. His mind was elsewhere, always elsewhere, with Amelia. He loved her and Castiel could see that. He felt selfish for hoping Sam would notice that something wasn’t right about him. Sam had always been so good at talking through things and Castiel needed to talk through this to someone.   
Dean had noticed that he was weak and useless and had tried to talk to him. That was something. Dean had changed so much since he’d met him. He couldn’t tell Dean though. Dean was doing so much, trying so hard. He wanted to be brothers with Sam again, even though the younger of the two had his mind on other things and Dean was doing a poor job of it. He was trying to do his job. He was trying to hunt down all of the evil in the world. Castiel could not dump his problems on his friend. He was too busy and the angel did not want to worry him.   
So Castiel kept it to himself and the metal of his sword became red as it stained.   
But Castiel cut too deep and he was bleeding longer than he had expected. He kept his arm to his side, his wrist hidden against his side, hoping that the three layers that he always wore would soak it all up. That was not the case. He was surprised that no one noticed as he followed the Winchesters back to the Impala that he was leaving a trail of fresh blood and grace in the dirt behind him.   
He paused beside the car though, looking at her fine leather seats. Dean had made clear time and time again that nothing was allowed to stain that beautiful interior. Castiel was a stain though. Even if there hadn’t been rivers of blood drizzling down his clenched fist, he was a stain. Nothing good ever came of him.   
“Hey, Cas, are we going or what?” Dean asked from the other side of the car. His door was open and he was ready to get in and drive, his suit jacket in his hands. Sam was already in the vehicle.  
Castiel did not respond. He could see his reflection in the window of the Impala, in the sleek black paint. Had he always looked like this? He looked like a shadow, like his skin was too big for him. He had once been a spotlight, a tower, a being of grace and strength and power. All he saw was a broken man with blood on his hand. He looked tired and broken and sad and nothing like what he’d wanted to be.   
Freedom. Freedom was the cause of this. And it was a length of rope. And he was hanging from it.  
Now he just had to wait to suffocate.  
“Cas?” the voice was louder now, the air of it against his ear. A hand grabbed his arm and he squinted as the fingers grasped onto scabs and scars and open wounds. Dean was looking at him, worry in his face. Why was he worried? Castiel did not deserve Dean to worry about him. “You hear me, buddy?”  
Castiel shook his head, tearing himself away from his thoughts. He shouldn’t be holding them back. “My apologies. I have been thinking.”  
“Well, we’re going.” Dean relinquished control of the bleeding limb.  
“I should go on my own.” Castiel sighed, seeing the blood on Dean’s fingers. He would notice it soon enough. The angel did not want to be there for that. “I have things I need to see to.”  
And he vanished, leaving Dean to wonder about what was happening to himself.

The blade is cold and there for him. It cannot do anything that he doesn’t want it to. It knows all of his secrets. It’s as sharp as when it was first forged or born or willed into existence. It sliced into him in ways that he wishes were fatal. He wishes that he were strong enough to handle that blade a little bit differently.   
It wouldn’t matter. Whatever it was that hated him so much would only bring him back again.

Dean was quiet the next time that he saw him and he kept resting a hand on the angel’s shoulder or wrist and even on his hip once or twice, always when Sam wasn’t looking. Castiel wanted to vanish, want to leave, but Dean had called him there, told him that they needed his help on a case. He hadn’t revealed what the case was though and Castiel felt that Dean had other things in mind, a whirlwind of thoughts colliding in his head.   
He knew that it was true when he sent Sam out to get some food and he sat on the bed across from the angel.   
“Show me your wrists.” He ordered and his voice was soft, softer than Castiel had ever heard it. It sounded like his words were stuck in his throat.  
“What is this about?” Castiel could not look him in the eyes.  
“Cas, please.”  
“I’m fine, Dean. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” He closed his eyes and was about to go, get out of this uncomfortable situation, but then there was a bit of warmth. He opened his eyes and there was Dean, his hand on the angel’s knee.  
He swallowed, “There is and you’re not. You don’t have to hide this from me. I’m here for you.”  
“I wish you wouldn’t be.” Castiel hadn’t meant to say it, but it had popped out. He immediately regretted it and stood, losing Dean’s touch as he turned towards the door. His chest felt tight. His shoulders felt constricted. His eyes were burning and his throat had a horrible lump in it. He finally had the opportunity to leave but he didn’t. All of a sudden he just wanted to stay still or curl in on himself and melt through the floorboards.  
“What do you mean by that Cas?” Dean sounded hurt.  
“I wish you weren’t here for me. I don’t want you to have to worry about me.” Castiel choked out, “I’m an angel of the lord. I don’t need anyone’s help. I wouldn’t deserve it even if I wasn’t.”  
That warm hand was on him again, but this time it was matched with another and they were on his sides instead of his knee. They inched forward as Dean’s warm body clung to his back, his strong arms reaching around him before holding him tight. It was the second hug he had received from Dean and once again he was not able to return it. His face felt hot as the liquid dripped from his reddening eyes.  
“I’m your friend, Cas, it’s my job to help you. I don’t know why you feel you deserve so little.”  
“I betrayed you Dean.” He interrupted and he could hear the tremors in his words as the tears came more readily, spurred on by the ones who had fallen before, “I did so much damage, to Earth, to Heaven, to Sam, to you. You should just stay away from me.”  
“I can’t.”  
Castiel turned away and he could see that Dean was close to tears as well. He wanted to wrench himself away, get away and stay away from the man. He should never cry. He should never cry because of him.   
“Dean.”  
“Just. Just show me, okay? I want you to be better.”  
“You’re almost crying.” Cas raised up one hand, the one that had no scars or scabs or blood and wiped the accumulating moisture from Dean’s clumping eyelashes. At his touch Dean’s mouth fell open, not a lot, but enough for Castiel to want to take a step forward and close that distance.  
“You are crying.” Dean mocked, but he stopped embracing Castiel and took both of his wrists in his strong hands, they were so strong, and led him to the bed. They sat across from each other and Dean kept his hands in his lap, petting the thick material of the over coat.  
When he finally pulled the fabric up Castiel was no longer crying softly. His body was bent over and the sobs were wreaking havoc through his back. There were tremors and shivering and his face was soaking wet from tears and mucous. He folded his head into his lap as Dean studied the damage on his wrist, hiding the mess from the noble hunter. He was an angel; he should not be seen like this. He should not be feeling emotions like this.   
“Why would you do this, Cas?” Dean asked and he could hear the sobs only seconds away from Dean’s voice.  
“I’m. I’m losing. Everything. I don’t have. Any cont. Control. Over my grace. Or my body. I just. I want to. To be. In control. Of something.”  
Dean let go of his wrists and once again his arms were wrapped against Castiel, but there was no inch to step past. Dean’s chin was resting on Castiel’s shoulder and the angel’s face was buried into his old Black Sabbath t-shirt, which smelled like shaving cream, leather, blood, and greasy cheeseburgers. Castiel buried his face deeper.   
“Cas. Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean was rubbing his back now, helping him through the pains of his emotions spilling out of him. “I could have helped. I’m here for you.”  
“Didn’t want. To worry you.” His voice cracked.  
Dean pulled away and Castiel clung to him, his fingers making knots into worn cotton. He didn’t want Dean to leave him. He didn’t want Dean to see the mess that he had become. He didn’t want Dean to worry about him anymore.   
He actually wanted.  
But those hands that had left his side took his jaw instead and forced Castiel to look up into Dean’s tear reddened eyes. He could see the worry there and the sadness and a hint of the ever present anger, but he also saw something that he’d never expect to see for him. For Sam sure, all of these emotions went to Sam, but to him, it was just strange. He could see love in Dean.  
And Dean stepped forward, closed the space, and his lips were soft and calming and so so wonderful. All of the pain and frustration and tightness left Castiel as that love left Dean and entered him, soothed his aching creases. His fingers were still tight in Dean’s shirt, but they were no longer there out of grief, but need. He needed more of this love that Dean had given him a taste of, needed more of this touch.   
He bit forward, his teeth grazing Dean’s lip and taking him by surprise. He was slightly aware that he was kissing too hard but that didn’t matter, he needed, he wanted Dean and Dean was kissing him back. He slipped his tongue into the human’s mouth and explored the vast canopies and deep trenches of his mouth, licking up every drop of love he could find.   
He drew Dean’s love inside of himself.  
When they finally parted, panting and staring with round eyes he finally asked the only question he could think of.  
“Why didn’t you tell me?”  
“I didn’t want to scare you.” Dean looked away from him, his lips swollen and pink, “I thought you would say no.”  
“I don’t think I have a right to say no to you Dean. Not anymore.”  
Dean looked back at him, that wonderful smile that he’d seen only once before, upon being found in Purgatory, spread across his handsome face. Castiel smiled back and the look reached his eyes.  
His body seemed to fit and the whole that had only been filled with blood before was now filled with Dean’s love.


End file.
